I loved getting to know my first daughter-in-law’s parents.
Her Mom was the kind of can-do person I admire.
Nothing in the wedding preparations fazed her.
She just figured out a way to solve whatever problem came up, with the attitude that just because she didn’t know how to do something didn’t mean she couldn’t do it if she set her mind to it.
Her daughter has the same attitude.
Her father was a doctor and her parents had decided to move from Richmond, where they met, to Maine, thinking it a better place for kids to grow up.
I love the fact that right from the start her parents were thinking about the best environment to raise their children.
When I asked her Mom for photos of our soon to be daughter-in-law growing up for a video I was having made for the wedding reception, she had a matching picture for every one I had of my son.
The firsts. The cute. The memorable.
When I walked in to see my future daughter-in-law just finished dressing for her wedding, her beauty took my breath away,
And, she started crying.
Her mother said, “It’s a family tradition. All the brides in our family have always cried walking down the aisle.”
With such loving parents, it is no surprise, then, that their daughter is a wonderful mother.
Sadly, our beautiful daughter-in-law lost both her parents within a year after she and my son married.
My other daughter-in-law’s parents and we have carved out different roles for ourselves.
They live in the city.
We live on a creek in a semi-rural area on nine, mostly wooded acres with a sledding hill in the back yard, swimming, fishing and canoeing in the creek.
When we moved in, long before the grandchildren arrived, we had chickens in the front yard for their fresh eggs and let our beagles roam the neighborhood.
So, we are the country grandparents.
In the city, our grandson gets to visit museums, the zoo and ball games.
His grandparents can, when emergencies arise, pick him up from school or take care of him in the evening.
Our daughter-in-law’s beauty was recognized at a local horse race, where everyone dresses like it’s the Kentucky Derby.
Her outfit won the day.
It’s no mystery why our grandson’s Mom is a wonderful mother.
She has loving, caring, attentive parents.
Since getting to our house is a 45-minute, not a 10-minute trip, visits with us are planned, less frequent, and last longer.
Trips from our house are to the Farmer’s Market, where Grandpa, a Master Gardener, helps out by taking extra food at the end of the day to a local homeless shelter.
Or, to the butcher, who always has a piece of candy for a well-behaved grandchild, as long as Grandma or Grandpa says it’s ok.
Or, to the farm, where we own a cowshare that provides us with raw milk.
We can see the cows where our milk comes from, the calves coming up, the peacocks that roam the yard, and the live rabbits for sale.
Our grandchildren watch their grandfather ride a tractor, mowing our front yard.
They dam up the creek.
They see deer in the front yard.
Carol Covin, Granny-Guru
Author, “Who Gets to Name Grandma?”